The Beast
by I wish I was Kermit
Summary: Simon’s thoughts as he dies, and a little before then. One-Shot, English project. Very angsty.


The Beast 

I was floating away from the place of my death.

I was breaking, breaking into a million pieces of pain, and all I could bring myself to do was retrace my sand-tracked steps from there. There, that blood-darkened smear upon the beach, that place where I was broken, torn, ravaged by the wild children's feet and scratching hands. If they had only known the true nature of what I was- knew me beyond the smiles, the stumbling words, the solemn solitary vigil of my place in the jungle. It was hot in my clearing, the time long ago before I died, and in there I dreamed.

The sun cast hazy ribbons of light in between veined green leaves, warming the sweet smell of earth between dappled shadows. The light fell like a waterfall of honeyed milk, pooling in the dips and bends of the palm trees and thick choking vines. Butterflies, beings of powdered colour and fire, fluttered powerful wings at me and brushed my face with kisses. White whispers of sickness tugged at the corners of my brain, clothing it in thick fabric, and as I closed my eyes against it a tiny wince formed between my dark eyebrows.

I turned my soft young face towards the sky, which was a hot colour of blue, and wrapped my dirty fingers around my toes. My fingers, slender and sun-goldened, were used to curling around ripe fruits, whose skin flashed beauty and a promise of future pain. My brows furrowed deeper, and the light seen through my eyelids blared red.

The forest bent into leafy smiles. I shivered, covered with sweat, mouth dry with heat. My throat cracked under the desert of sun that bakes it, roasting my skin, setting me on fire, pouring out the last of myself though the bare texture of my skin.

I must suffer to finally see.

Screaming through the leafy bars of my cage, chasing away the fire of the butterflies, roared a sow fat with milk and childbirth. Screaming, poked with spots of crimson, limping and crying spurts of pain. And following her, inevitable, comes the beast with the painted face, running on nimble feet.

Jack lunged, diving upon her, followed by a laity of boys. They pummeled her heaving body, thrust spears inside of her, broke her dirty skin, wolfish and starving. I cringed back into the green shadows of my space. Before she cried a squeal of death, I can see the life leaving her eyes.

Twitching.

The tribe surrounded her carcass and jeered, jabbered, laughed. Soon, a knife is taken and there comes the sound of separation. The silver knife flashed and sawed unevenly and inexpertly through the fat of the neck, breaking down through muscle, splashing blood over grass and stone. The sun flashed inside, and the pool flashed an ocean of life and death.

The head was taken, gaping a black dripping smile. A stick sharpened at both ends, jabbed between two stones, carrying its weight with a dip of complaint.

I must suffer to finally see.

The flies came, breaking the silence of hours. I stared into the blank eyes of the dead pig, seeing myself mirrored a million times; small, smaller, smallest.The eyes were dark with seduction and murder, and the promise of both.

My head I was wrapped in pain, my nose dripped blood, and I was caught in a web of white noise and pain. Around the pig's head formed a halo of flies, buzzing, screaming over the sound of a death come too soon.

The head speaks, a normal river coming from a dark source. There. It told me the Truth, for it knew I would never live past the limit of its gaze.

And then I knew. The Beast was within us all; it was the hunger, the screaming, the fire dancing down the hills. It was the cackling, the beating, the death of the pig.

And the Lord of the Flies stared me down and down and down to my knees.

I stumbled, I ran, I careened from that place of death. I broke through the jungle, allowing the wet vines wrap and trip me up, to break my will. The flies followed me down to that place of fire and screams.

There were cries of fear that I did not understand. Pointing fingers that I wished to swat away. For did they want to learn the Truth? Did they want to See?

A crack of pain flashed behind my eyes, and I found myself swallowing sand. I was kicked, feeling my skin break and their feet become slippery with the need to murder me. Traveling faces were all around, forcing my face into the sand. I was bleeding, crying, screaming, pleading for them to See! To See!

My breath left me, deserted and lonely upon that pale sand. Fire rose and blurred, and I saw nothing for a time. For then grew the knowledge, budding like a flower inside me.

Another one, another child, to die to save the bounds of civilization.

I must suffer to finally see, and I am reflected a million times in the eyes of the tide.

And now, at the floating time of my death, I am buried beside myself and myself and myself.


End file.
